


ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

by Val_Creative



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Codependency, Crimes & Criminals, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Injury, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion, Sexual Violence, Twincest, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Conner and Murphy fuck up their mission, separated and trapped by new enemies.
Relationships: Connor MacManus/Murphy MacManus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen





	ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).



> I've only seen the first movie so I rolled with that. But I ship the hell out of the twins and I saw the noncon tag in "Undisclosed Fandom" so I figured it was okay to combine. Hope you and everyone else like this! Thanks for reading!

*

Death is not an end. 

It is a welcoming into the arms of his Lord.

Conner snarls, his lips dripping blood. He's thrown against a rose quartz sink, hitting his forehead against the gilded swan-faucet within a seashell mold. Its beak gurgles out scorchingly hot water as an Turkish mobster holds Conner's face underneath. 

(Death lurks too impatiently. He will not go _quietly_.)

One of Conner's arms flails up, gripping harshly for the mobster's wrist. Twisting and jerking to break his grip. He's pushed away from the sink, dropping onto his arse, wheezing loudly. Hot, cloudy water blinks off Conner's eyelashes. 

He has seconds before a grotesquely huge fist crashes into his jaw. 

And that's when it all goes black.

Murphy disappeared down the nightclub's hallway, hoisting himself into the ceiling-shaft. That's what matters.

*

They weren't ready for this mission.

Conner wakes to a deep, flaming agony splintering his senses. His left eye bruised up in its socket. His hands roped behind him, soaked maroon and heavy in his blood. He squirms his knees, glancing quickly to the four other Turkish mobsters around him.

He's seen this hellhole before.

They're all the same… _all of them_ … dens of malicious fornication and harlotry. Sin cultivated by the greediest of tyrants. 

Pale pink marble. A dried-out jacuzzi sloping down the center of the back-room. Crystalline chandeliers. Silverware. Rose-gold furnishings and trays and velvet chaises dotting the entryways. Soft rosy lighting against a backdrop of fake papery ocean-view. 

Conner bows his head and mumbles out a prayer, lidding his eyes.

_"Amen."_

His swollen jaw aches like a bitch as Godfather Dündar Kılıç's fingers clutch him. 

"Your brother…" Conner tenses, his eyes widening open. What must be Conner's heart drums against his ribs. "Your _cock-sucking_ brother… he did not make it…" Boss Alaattin Çakıcı booms in a reedy, accent-thick English.

Wickedness seeps through their laughter.

A door leading to a private peep-room slides up. It's unlit. Conner stares, panting and wound-up in apprehension, as a man appears. The man gets flattened against the pane of glass trembling as hard as Conner. Wounded and naked.

Father Macklepenny — _the lowlife cunt_ — humps against a sickly pale Murphy, fucking him aggressively on the glass.

Conner drowns out the wicked, gleeful laughter with his raging screams, thrashing to be freed.

There's no life in Murphy's eyes. He's drugged beyond noticing physical stimuli, left open-mouthed, fogging up the glass in slow, steady breaths. Father Macklepenny's cock splits him from behind, ramming in, forcing Murphy's holy crucifix to bump the glass.

 _"MURPHY!"_ he howls, lowered onto his stomach by two of the mobsters, pinned down. "Let him _FUCKING_ go! You _BASTARDS_!"

_"MURPHY!"_

"He wails like a woman. Shut him up," Boss Alaattin Çakıcı orders, nodding firmly to one of his muscular bodyguards yanking off his tie. Conner's mouth stuffs with expensive, patterned satin. Drool pours out. Everything hurts.

Besides the four mobsters, there's two guards and Boss Alaattin Çakıcı crowding the nightclub's back-room.

Conner watches in mounting, gagging horror, his chin grinding to the pale pink marble, as Murphy's hand raises up on the fogged-glass. Nobody else seems to pay him mind. His index finger sketches a circular dome at the tip, making an angular line as it drags down.

Murphy's other finger repeats the gesture sluggishly until what appears to a crooked semi-heart appears.

_Stupid…_

He curses Murphy, groan-sobbing out a laugh and feeling himself getting turned over. 

Conner aims a kick for a mobster's throat. They subdue him. 

Human trafficking, Conner's brain realizes. It explains why Father Macklepenny had been seen at Anatolia's.

Conner yells, lashing himself wildly. His wrists straining. His thighs crush apart as his enemies force him on his back, laying him out. A hand grips over his neck, wrenching Conner's head up and cutting off his oxygen. He stares Murphy with an upside-down view.

Tears gush out his eyes.

Conner shuts them, feeling, feeling Murphy's pain and his confusion and terror. It echos in his chest.

Gunshots fire. 

One of the bigger, bearded guards, along with Murat Güler and Boss Alaattin Çakıcı goes flying on their heels, slammed with bullets.

 _"GET FUCKED, MOTHERFUCKAAAS!"_ Rocco bellows, popping off his semiautomatics like it's the Wild fuckin' West. 

Conner uses the distraction to lurch up, headbutting and shoving himself down as a knife jabs him.

Thankfully, the knife's point loosens his blood-soaked ropes.

He grabs for a revolver, firing at the last guard and tumbling into the emptied jacuzzi. Conner kills another mobster who peers over the edge, checking his rounds. From above, glass shatters and rains down on him.

"Murphy," Conner whispers. Dread fills him. 

He crawls back up the jacuzzi, lacking the friction and needing it to reach his twin.

What remains of the glass-pane skewers the body of Father Macklepenny. His eyes glazed over by Death's hand lingering. His cassock saturated in liquid red. Murphy, freezing on the pale pink marble, falls sideways. His naked, flushed skin exposed.

Rocco hoots, waving his arms up in victory.

" _WE FUCKING DID IT! WE_ —oh shit," he mumbles, gawking as Conner hunches over Murphy. "Oh shit—shit—shit shit _shit_ —"

Conner's hand brushes into Murphy's short, sweaty hair. "He's gonna be fine, Roc," Conner deadpans. "Give me your jacket. Right now. Hurry it up." Conner snatches onto Rocco's black suede jacket and drapes it over Murphy's bottom half.

He curls up to Murphy's side, trying to regain his breathing. Conner's arm situates protectively against his twin's shoulder.

This can't happen again.

His fingers wrap onto Murphy's holy cross, and onto his own, steadying him.

*

God spoke in the rain.

They were overcome by it, quivering and half-dressed. 

Conner remembers looking over at Murphy through the rain, their hands scrambling for each other.

He remembers being yanked furiously onto Murphy's cell-bed, gasping against Murphy's lips. They held each other down. Kissed and rutted in the shadows. It felt good. It felt holy like kissing Jesus's feet during Mass. It felt like consecration in the rainwaters bathing them.

_Destroy all that which is evil…_

_…so that which is good may flourish._

*


End file.
